


This isn’t Camelot: GoT Season 1

by Airdria_Jynn



Series: A Game of Thrones: A Camelot Adventure [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Needs a Hug, Crack Treated Seriously, Dragonlord Merlin (Merlin), Dragonlords (Merlin), Dragons, Episode: s04e01-02 The Darkest Hour, Game of Thrones Season 01, Gen, Grieving, Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Gwaine Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Gwaine rolls with everything, Humor, I don’t think it’s crack anymore, I’ve treated my crack too seriously, Lancelot is Podrick Payne, Magic Revealed, Merlin Is A Bad Influence, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Merlin has dragon babies, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Morgana isn’t evil (Merlin), Percival is Dickon Tarly, Spirit Animals, Tywin Lannister is Aredian, Underage Drinking, deaged characters, mother of dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airdria_Jynn/pseuds/Airdria_Jynn
Summary: Morgana makes a small change in the spell she casts. Little does she know this makes a big difference in the spell’s outcome.Meanwhile Merlin and The Knights of the Round Table go on a quest to stop the White Walkers that now plague Camelot.The next thing they know: they are no longer in Camelot, but the world of A Game of Thrones. Now the question is: can they survive the game of thrones?
Relationships: Aithusa & Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon & Tywin Lannister, Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, Kilgharrah & Daenerys Targaryen, Kilgharrah & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin (Merlin) & Daenerys Targaryen, Morgana & Morgause (Merlin), Rhaego & Daenerys Targaryen
Series: A Game of Thrones: A Camelot Adventure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669324
Comments: 40
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue: Morgana

The full moon casted long shadows upon the Isle of the Blessed as Morgana escorted her sister through the ancient ruins. The magic of it penetrated her very core, and even though she has long since accepted her magic, tonight it unnerved her. It was too powerful, and knowing what Morgause wanted her to do with this magic disturbed her.

  
And as they walked she was becoming more uncertain, she didn’t want to lose her sister, and to kill her was unthinkable. Morgause was certainly suffering from last year’s battle, but she wasn’t dying no matter what she had said to Morgana.

  
Lost in her thoughts she didn’t realize Morgause had been speaking until the urgency of her tone increased. “Samhain is almost upon us, we must hurry.”

  
Looking at her sister’s back as she moved away from her she realized, “I can’t do this.” She couldn’t lose her. She was all Morgana had, the only one who understood her, who didn’t hate her magic.

  
“Sister,” Morgause stopped, and beckoned her over with a wave of her hand. She came to her as the cold air nipped at her cheeks and continued walking with her. She needed to hold onto Morgause’s arm to reassure herself that Morgause was alive, that she wouldn’t lose her in that moment. “Remember what I’ve told you. It is the only way. What you are about to do will affect everyone, even you. But most importantly it will bring our enemies to their knees. You must be strong, remember that.”

Morgana remembered. She didn’t want to do it, she couldn’t. But it’s what Morgause wanted. All too suddenly they had arrived at the altar, and Morgause presented her with a dagger. Her stomach was in knots, her heart was pounding against her chest. She couldn’t do this to the one person she truly trusted and loved. The one that had helped her when all others had abandoned her.

“Do not be scared.” Morgause knew her too well, and despite herself she took the dagger and helped her climb onto the altar. “I am not long for this world. There is nothing left for me here now.”  
  
Did she not understand that Morgana needed her? That they could take her throne back together? Morgause wanted Morgana to believe that she was going to die regardless. Was she in so much pain that she truly wanted to die that badly? If that was the case, this would be a mercy.

“Please sister, let my parting be my final gift to you.” Morgause laid down on the altar, and Morgana found herself moving without thought. Her heart was breaking as she poised the dagger above her head and began her incantation. However, when the moment arrived, she couldn’t do it. The dagger remained where it was as she stared at her sister’s face, which was stricken with dread. The sheer amount of panic on her face bewildered Morgana. Was it really that bad that she didn’t finish the spell? That she cared more about her sister than getting revenge and the crown?

Morgause’s eyes burned. Morgana’s hand stung. Her hands dropped down to eye level. One was raw and red. The dagger was missing. Morgana’s heart stopped as she looked down at her sister. She found it. The hilt was sticking out of Morgause’s chest. A wail began to tear from Morgana’s lips. Then her consciousness left her as the world in front of her was ripped asunder.

A hand ghosted along her cheek and as her eyes eventually fluttered open she noticed a haunted older woman staring at her. After a moment of silence Morgana spoke, “Who are you?” 

“I am the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world. You and your sister have torn the veil between the worlds at the cost of her life.” 

The dagger in her sister’s chest flashed through her mind. Morgause had taken her own life. She was dead. Her sister had left her here alone. Morgana’s eyes stung at that thought. Shivers wracked Morgana’s spine as haunted screeches filled the ruins.

“The Dorocha. They are the voices of the dead, my child. And like the dead they are numberless, but they are not what you should fear, it is their brethren that should be feared, who will walk through the night killing indiscriminately and adding to their ranks.” 

Morgana’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She didn’t know that this is what her sister had intended for the world. Those with magic were not exempt from this fate. Rage and sorrow filled her as she realized that her sister had died so that everyone would perish. It was for her crown? For her revenge? How was she to rule a kingdom without people? How was this worth Morgause’s death? 

“You are right to be afraid, Morgana. Your enemies will rue this day and all the destruction it brings, but you must beware. Tearing the veil between the worlds has reforged a connection to a different world. That world shall eventually consume this one. Your inability to kill her and her subsequent actions are to blame for this.”

  
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She whispered as tears fell down her cheeks. The cold stones beneath her sent chills through her bones. The throne belonged to her. She wanted her revenge and Merlin punished for his betrayal, but how can she sit upon a throne when her citizens are dead, there will be nothing to rule over… “is there any way to reverse this?” 

The Cailleach smiled, “if you walk through the veil then yes, but only if the one they call Emrys walks through the veil in your wake. It has been told that he is your destiny and your doom and one can not exist without the other.”  
  
Morgana gave The Cailleach a puzzled look. Walking through the veil would be her doom. Walking through it would be her death. Her revenge would be incomplete. How could this Emrys then be her doom? Also...

“How do I know he’ll follow me into the veil? I won’t do it without a guarantee that killing myself will solve this mess.”

“The world beyond is not what you think, my child, but Emrys will do anything to protect this world. You have my word, High Priestess, as the Gatekeeper.”  
  
Not what she thought? So she wouldn’t die? Either way she didn’t have a choice. With that thought Morgana took in a deep breath and walked through the veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a crack fic idea that I came up several years ago when I noticed how many actors who had been in Merlin were in Game of Thrones as well. So last year when the last season of Game of Thrones came out I decided to turn it into an actual fanfic. I hope you enjoy it.  
> I plan on updating once a week.  
> ***Also the first part of this chapter with Morgana and Morgause’s dialogue and some of the Cailleach and Morgana dialogue borrows from Merlin Season 4 Episode 1: The Darkest Hour.***


	2. Lancelot

“We did it, Lancelot,” Merlin exclaimed with gleaming eyes as they strode into the clearing.

Lancelot heard the crunch of leaves as Merlin collapsed to the ground. Merlin was pulling out a large brilliantly white egg that shone under the moonlight in contrast to the darkness of shadows surrounding it as the satchel was opened. 

“We actually rescued it from the Tomb of Ashkanar. Kilgharrah won’t be the last dragon.” Merlin was practically vibrating in place. Every joint was bouncing up and down. Lancelot felt warmth spread through his chest as Merlin’s joy spread to him.

“And all without Arthur discovering what we were up to. Granted it was a very close call, if we had let Borden steal the Triskelion piece from the vaults I very much doubt we would have been this successful.”

“I know, I shouldn’t have been so trusting of him, but when I heard about the dragon egg I couldn’t just do nothing. And thank you for your help, things would have gone badly without you there.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lancelot frowned as he looked down at the egg. “But what are you planning to do with the egg now, Merlin? I mean you can’t raise a dragon within Camelot...And I hate to ask, but with how long the egg was within that tomb is it even still alive?” 

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Kilgharah said that dragon eggs can survive for hundreds or thousands of years. So there is a good chance. But I’m going to need to summon him because I honestly have no clue. This whole dragonlord thing is still new to me.” Merlin stood and walked further into the clearing before shouting out in dragon tongue. 

Lancelot’s heart raced at the unexpected harshness and volume of Merlin’s words. He began searching around clearing because certainly someone had heard Merlin shouting, after all this was exactly how he himself had learned about Merlin’s magic. How has Merlin gone undiscovered for all these years? There wasn’t any movement behind the trees, nor flickering shadows. Crickets chirped but there was a lack of cracking or snapping branches, so they were likely safe. Satisfied, he turned his gaze back only for his heart to race twice as hard, when he saw Merlin swaying unsteadily on his feet before collapsing onto the ground. 

Lancelot ran over to Merlin to check him over. He was unnaturally cold. His skin was clammy and pale and he started to shiver. Lancelot needed to get him back to Gaius. But when he reached out to grab him there was a strong gust of wind. Leaves were blowing into Lancelot‘s face making it difficult to see properly. And when his vision cleared there was a large dragon staring at him and Merlin.

“What has happened to the young warlock?” Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed as he examined Merlin's chill racked body. In the back of his brain, he was amazed that a dragon could talk, but Merlin’s health came first.

“He was fine a minute ago. He collapsed right after he summoned you. I need to get him back to Gaius.” 

“If you step back I might be able to help him.”

Lancelot didn’t know how a dragon could do that, but he wasn’t going to argue with a dragon when this would be much quicker than getting Merlin back into Camelot. So Lancelot did as asked and Kilgharrah breathed onto Merlin’s prone form. The air that the dragon expelled was almost smoke like in how it curved and rose up in the area around Merlin’s body. Lancelot’s eyes widened as the grass withered and died upon contact with the dragon’s breath, and he struggled to pull in a breath. Was the dragon trying to kill him? Merlin said the dragon would help! Before he could yell at the dragon to stop he saw that Merlin’s condition was improving. His skin was getting some color back into and the shaking had stopped. Lancelot could feel the sweat pouring off of him. How could Merlin survive such intense heats that would kill anyone else?

Kilgharrah stepped back and turned his head towards Lancelot as he rested his giant laurels on the ground. “He will wake shortly. Now tell me: did you two succeed in finding the egg?”

Lancelot just nodded, too shocked at the abrupt change of topic to answer at first. He eyed Merlin up and down. There wasn’t a single burn, his breathing was normal, and the chills were gone. Kilgharrah cleared his throat. Lancelot had forgotten the dragon was there, and had asked him a question.

“Yes, we did.” Lancelot retrieved the egg from where he and Merlin had left it, and set it down between himself and the dragon. Kilgharah’s eyes remained fixed on the egg. “Is it still alive?”

“Oh, yes indeed.” 

There was a spark in his eye and his teeth flashed from within his grin. It vanished a second later as he became serious once more. “But now is not the time for it to be hatched.”

“What! Why not?” Merlin’s voice rang out from the ground where he was still laying and slowly began to rise to a seated position. He looked extremely well for someone who had just unexpectedly collapsed. Magic really was incredible.

“Because as you just felt young warlock, the veil has been opened. It is a dangerous time for all. A newly hatched dragon has no fire and would be too vulnerable to the Dorocha.”

“The Dorocha? Would that happen to be the old crone I saw before I ended up down here?” Lancelot’s eyebrows scrunched up. There wasn’t anyone else in this clearing at that time, he had checked.

“Spirits of the dead, but something has changed, and the Dorocha are more volatile than in times past. If you saw the crone that would likely be The Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit realm. What did she tell you?”

“She just kept chanting my name, Emrys.” Kilgharah’s eyes widened in shock.

“Do not answer her summons young warlock! It does not bode well for the future of Camelot.”

“Why would she summon Merlin,” Lancelot asked. 

“She wants a sacrifice, it is the only way to repair the veil,” Kilgharah snaked his head in Merlin’s direction, “It is likely she wants you Merlin, but you are needed here.”

“If it’s the only way to repair the veil, then I’ll do it.”

“A sacrifice is the only way to repair it. But the egg, Merlin? It will need you to hatch.”

“Then I’ll keep it close until the time comes to hatch it.”

“And your destiny?” Kilgharrah glared down at him.

“You should know that I will do everything I can to protect Arthur including sacrificing myself if it comes to that.”

The dragon gave Merlin a hard stare before saying, “Very well.” He nodded at Merlin with a sad look in his eyes. There was something about that look that seemed off to Lancelot, he just didn’t know what. “I’ll see you one last time when the time comes for it to happen.” He flew off leaving the two of them in the clearing.


	3. Merlin

The morning after Merlin and Lancelot had returned to Camelot, Merlin was prepared to travel to the Isle of the Blessed. It was where his instincts told him he’d find the Cailleach. But then he overheard the reports that had been rolling about an injured woman with blue tinged skin and glowing eyes murdering all of the people in multiple towns. Magic was certainly involved and Gaius had suspected that whatever it was was a powerful spell considering the reports came in directly after Samhain. So he didn’t get the chance to leave when he had planned.

The next day Merlin was actually on his way to the Isle of Blessed. Although it was with Arthur and his closest knights. It would have been easier to go alone, but he still needed to make sure Arthur was well protected. The plan was to check on one of the afflicted villages first before heading to the Isle of Blessed. Merlin heard Gaius telling Arthur that that was where the spell had likely been cast, and that a sacrifice would be needed to break it.

The abandoned village was ominously illuminated by the moon. Merlin expected dead bodies upon riding into the town, but there was only a howling wind. Merlin felt uneasiness gnaw at his chest. He felt raw and powerful magic crawling onto his fingertips. Whatever was going on with the Dorocha and The Cailleach had certainly affected this town and Merlin wanted no part in it. Merlin didn’t even want to stop here. More people would die the longer it took getting to the Isle of Blessed, but Arthur didn’t listen to him when he tried explaining it.

The knights had already dismounted their horses, and Merlin found Lancelot waiting for him to dismount. He could see their torches flickering in the distance as they began checking out the village.

“I’m surprised Arthur didn’t yell at me about hurrying up,” Merlin muttered as he swung off of his horse.

“I think Arthur’s been on edge since we heard that story about Morgause raising another undead army, but then again so are you.” Lancelot stared at Merlin. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“I have no choice.”

“That’s not what I asked, Merlin.”

No. He didn’t want to, but if he didn’t he knew Arthur would. The Cailleach had summoned him not Arthur. This was his responsibility, so that one day Arthur could become The Once and Future King.

“I-” Merlin was cut off by a clang of metal and shouting in the distance. 

Merlin heard the crunching of gravel beneath his and Lancelot’s feet as they took off. They rounded a corner only to be met by a group of villagers blocking their path. Their eyes were a startling blue that glowed in the night, and their skin abnormally pale. They were covered in injuries: burn marks, slashes, bite marks, puncture wounds, missing limbs, and frostbite. Their heads turned to them as one and they charged. 

Lancelot leapt forward slashing at the dead villagers before him. Merlin was strongly reminded of their last fight with the dead as his attacks didn’t seem to be affecting them at all. Would they need Excalibur to defeat them? They just kept coming at them even as Merlin pushed them back with his magic, and knocked heavy objects over onto their heads. None of Merlin’s usual spells could stop them.

There was a soul shattering shriek. Merlin turned to find one of the undead villagers being consumed by fire. Lancelot must have swiped at her with his torch. Merlin shivered: being burned alive was one of his worst nightmares. Then again this woman wasn’t alive. She was a reanimated corpse, and this seemed to be the only way to stop them right now.

Merlin rasped out, “Forbearnan!” Fire rose from the ground beneath the feet of the dead villagers, completely consuming them. The air reeked of smoke and burning flesh as they tried to escape the flames, but they collapsed and the flames extinguished. Merlin and Lancelot shivered despite the heat that still radiated in the area. 

The sounds of another fight hit them and they were off once more to find Arthur, Percival, and Gwaine struggling against their own foes. Arthur was without a torch. Merlin noticed it laying in the dirt. He needed to get it back to Arthur. Lancelot swiped his torch at an undead man, who was close to Arthur.

“They’re vulnerable to fire,” Lancelot shouted. 

Merlin checked to see if he was out of sight before summoning the torch towards himself. One of the undead villagers streaked by Merlin, and Merlin whacked him with the flaming end of the torch. With a bit of magic Merlin was able to fling him into the nearest villager, who just so happened to be the man Arthur was fighting. Arthur’s head whipped around to Merlin and his jaw dropped when he saw Merlin's outstretched arm holding the torch.

Merlin’s mind blanked. He didn’t know how to explain how that happened. His feet carried him closer to Arthur.

“You dropped this,” Merlin remarked unabashedly and shoved the torch into Arthur’s empty hand before scurrying away. 

Merlin caught Arthur’s gaze though as he passed. There was a spark to his eyes that looked like pride. Or maybe it was amazement? Merlin wasn’t sure. Arthur was already taking a swing at his next opponent. He didn’t know what Arthur thought about how Merlin had taken out not just one but two villagers, but at least he had a positive reaction.

Merlin looked around himself, most of the undead were burning on the ground. He had just noticed Elyan and Leon fighting some of the undead in the distance. When had they shown up? Merlin didn’t know, but everything looked under control. Soon enough the last of the undead had been defeated, and Arthur strode up to Merlin.

“I don’t know how you managed that back there Merlin, but you certainly have a lot dumb luck.” Merlin felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder. “Even so, good job.”

Warmth spread through Merlin’s chest.

“Wait, what did Merlin do?” Gwaine asked.

“We need to get going. We don’t know how many more of them are wandering around the area.” Arthur said tilting his head in the direction of the still smoking corpses.

“But I need to know what Merlin did. It must be impressive if Princess is congratulating him.” Gwaine pouted.

“Do you have to call me that, Gwaine?” Arthur bitched.

“Merlin, what did you do?” Gwaine wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

“I got one of the villagers with a torch. He tripped into Arthur’s opponent. It was dumb luck like Arthur said.” Merlin hoped Gwaine would leave it at that. He didn’t need the attention drawn to him.

“Oh no, you can’t get out of it that easily. You got two of them with one blow! I think that requires a celebration when we get back to Camelot.”

“Gwaine, Merlin, we are leaving NOW!” Arthur yelled from atop his horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,  
> I was planning on just one more chapter and then I’d get to the characters in Westeros, but my beta reader said I should break this chapter into two. Now I have two more chapters until that happens. So on that note the second half of this chapter should be up next week.  
> P.S. Thanks for the kudos and comments!


	4. Merlin

The air around the Isle of the Blessed was thick. No one had spoken since they had woken up that morning despite not encountering anymore undead after departing the village. Merlin’s back ached with tension as he sat in the boat. Leon and Arthur sat with ramrod straight backs. There was no way they weren’t feeling the same pain in their shoulders. The boat jerked as it hit the shore. The breeze left a chill on Merlin’s skin despite the sun’s heat. Water creeped into Merlin’s shoes as he left the boat.

It would have made more sense for them to get off at the dock, but Merlin didn’t say anything. He wasn’t supposed to have knowledge of the Isle. No one but Gaius knew he had been here before. Feet crunching on gravel was the only sound that hit his ears until Gwaine broke the silence.

“So what are the odds that they left, and then we can walk in and seal the veil.”

“I doubt it would be that simple,” Lancelot remarked as he relit his torch.

Merlin watched as everyone followed Lancelot’s example before lighting his own torch. Regardless of what Gwaine said they all knew that they would be facing more undead villagers. They would need the torches. 

Sunlight illuminated the castle, it had certainly become more overrun since the last time he was here. Was that because there was no longer a high priestess looking after it? Was Merlin the reason the castle had crumbling stones and overgrown plants? That the castle didn’t seem to glow with magic in the same way?

As they were about to enter the decrepit ruins, Merlin heard familiar screeches coming from above. His gaze shot to the sky. Of course they had to encounter wyverns. Merlin scrambled away as they dove at the group. But what were they doing here? They hadn’t been here the last time Merlin came to the Isle.

Arthur and Percival already had their swords out, but every attempted swipe glanced off of the wyverns. Elyan and Leon were still close to the boats while Lancelot and Gwaine were fighting off two more wyverns that had just appeared. The wyverns took flight again, and when they neared him Merlin growled out a command for them to leave.

His heart dropped when they continued their attack. One dove straight for Merlin.  _ This couldn't be! How could they refuse the commands of a dragonlord?  _ His heart raced.  _ What could he do?  _ Desperately Merlin put more force into another command on just the one wyvern. It’s wings started to unfurl, slowing it’s descent. Merlin let out a breath. The wyvern was nearly on top of him. His heart raced again. Why wasn’t the wyvern listening? He thought that second command had worked!

Claws racked Merlin’s arm. Merlin bit back a scream. Glowing blue eyes stared at him. Like that of the villagers. Fire sprung from Merlin’s hand towards the wyvern. He fled. An angry squawk trailed after him. It was pissed off now, and it didn’t sound hurt.

“More coming from the east,” Leon yelled.

_ Shit. There was no way they could handle more. _

“Retreat to the castle!”

Merlin fortunately found himself by the entrance already. Percival entered the castle right after him. He turned around to search for Arthur, who was right behind Gwaine and flanked by Lancelot and Leon. Behind him a wyvern bowled into Elyan knocking him to the ground. Leon turned around and brandished his torch at wyvern. Merlin could hear it hissing, but his view was blocked as Gwaine, Arthur and Lancelot ran into the entrance. 

Multiple thumps and shaking rocks followed that. The entrance began collapsing. Arthur tried running back out, but was stopped by Percival and Lancelot grabbing him by the arm. When the stones stopped falling they released him.

“NOOO!” Arthur kicked at the stones that now lay in the doorway. His shoulders were tense, and Merlin could feel his frustration pouring off of him in waves.

“Arthur, we have to trust them to survive without us,” Merlin placed his hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. “They’ve survived worse.”

“I know,” Arthur clenched his fists and set his jaw as he turned around. “Let’s go. Our best chance is to stop this at the source.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but it was originally going to be apart of the previous chapter. Although I’m also releasing it earlier then planned. I hope you guys enjoyed it!


	5. Arthur

Arthur did not like leaving his people behind, but he was blocked off from Elyan and Leon. Fury balled up in his chest. If anything happened to them he would make sure Morgause paid. He forced himself to turn away from the rubble. He’d seen the vibrant eyes and the injuries on the wyverns. They were just as undead as the villagers. The faster he closed the veil the sooner Leon and Elyan would be safe.

“Let’s go. Our best chance is to stop this at the source.”

Arthur could still hear the screeching of the wyverns from beyond the courtyard, and his heart rate picked up at the thought of them flying over the castle’s walls. Fortunately the screeching faded by the time they got to the entryway, but then the wailing began. It was faint and overshadowed by grunts and groans. Arthur froze in place instinctively signaling for everyone else to halt. It sounded like it was coming from behind the fallen doors that were partially leaning against the frame. There was just enough room between the doors for one person to easily walk through at a time.

He crept forward. Peaking around the doorway he saw over a dozen undead villagers ambling about the dilapidated foyer blocking three other doorways. There were too many of them for four knights, and Merlin, to take on. Maybe if they could create a distraction, but Arthur wasn’t willing to sacrifice any of his men to lure them away. 

Arthur glanced to his left seeing Merlin on the other side of the doorway. Of course the idiot followed him after he gave the signal to stop. Arthur’s gaze swept back into the room. If they all charged in there they might be able to defeat enough of them to break through to one of the doors.

He turned around and gave the order for them to charge. Immediately after he heard a loud thump. The foyer was empty when they entered. Which way had they gone? Hurried footsteps were coming from his right. Bloody hell, they were coming back! Arthur swerved towards the left doorway away from the sound.

“Run,” he yelled behind him as the first one stumbled out of the opposite doorway.

He focused on the path ahead. Footsteps pounded behind him. The clinking of chain mail was absent. The undead must have followed him. He turned his head. The knights took another path, but Merlin was directly behind him. His jaw relaxed a bit. He wasn’t alone, but there was also a lot of undead behind them too. Possibly more than he saw in the foyer. His gaze flicked forward again.

The hallway began to shake. Arthur struggled to keep his balance. He looked behind to check on Merlin. He was a bit shaky on his feet, but he somehow managed to keep his balance too. Stones fell from the ceiling and walls behind them. One of them struck a villager. Arthur grabbed Merlin and dragged him along. He didn’t trust that Merlin wouldn’t fall given his clumsiness. They needed to escape the falling stones, and hopefully that would separate them from the undead. They passed by various stairs and doorways. The undead still followed them, but at least the castle stopped trembling.

Arthur entered an archway to find his path blocked by rubble. They were surrounded on all sides. He turned back to the entrance. He could hear the undead drawing closer. It was too late to turn around. He and Merlin would have to defend themselves here.

Merlin was staring at him. As he looked back Merlin’s gaze shifted away. He fidgeted in place. Of course the man he considered to be his best friend was nervous.

“Arthur, I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

_ What the hell was he sorry for? This wasn’t the time for Merlin’s madness. _ The undead came around the corner. Arthur lunged forward with his torch. He saw the flames consume one of them, but then an unseen force hit him right in the chest. He was pushed into the back of the room with his back pressed up against rubble.  _ What was that?  _ He knew it was magic, but where had it come from? His heart stopped when he saw it. He couldn’t even move when he saw fire engulf Merlin’s hand. Merlin’s arm reared back, and he threw it at the undead. Merlin threw fire.  _ How? Not possible. What?  _ The undead combusted upon contact with the fire. The fire was gone, and only smoking corpses remained. Merlin was already running out of the room.

Arthur wasn’t even aware his own legs were moving until he too was out of the room, bellowing, “MERLIN! What was that?!?” 

Merlin didn’t slow down in the least, but shouted back, “What did it look like?”

Arthur felt his jaw drop, and he forced it closed again. Merlin’s tone was so sarcastically flippant and so typically Merlin that Arthur didn’t know how to respond. The issue was that it looked like magic. He wanted Merlin to deny it, but he hadn’t. It couldn’t be possible. Merlin did not have magic!

Merlin rounded a corner. In that moment Arthur lost track of him as he sprinted straight into an outdoor area. The veil caught his attention. It looked like the world was torn in half, and the inky darkness inside the tear was trying to seep out into the world beyond. A chill racked his spine. It grew worse the longer he stared, so he tore his gaze away. Undead villagers were everywhere. The scent of burning flesh reached his nose. There was a flash of silver and red to his left. Lancelot was fighting off several of the undead. More undead were pouring out of the various doorways and swarmed around Lancelot. There was a glint of metal for a moment. And Arthur spotted more red pooling on the ground, blood.  _ Gwaine? Percival? _ He didn’t know who.

Arthur’s heart was pounding. Morgause stood on a raised dais near the veil and was staring right at him. A smirk was plastered onto her blue tinged face.  _ Kill her and her spell will end.  _ Arthur went to move forward, only he couldn’t. He put more effort into moving forward. It didn’t work.

“Release me, Morgause,” Arthur growled out.

“Why would I do that when I have you right where I want you?” 

Her voice was admonishing, and Arthur felt his teeth grind as she spoke. 

Arthur knew she was right. He refused to admit defeat. There had to be a way out of this. There always was. He saw Gwaine out of the corner of his eye behind Morgause. His heart fluttered.  _ Focus on Morgause, keep her distracted. _

“Where is Morgana?” That was not something he had been meaning to ask. Her betrayal still hurt. He didn’t want to see her, but if Morgause was here surely Morgana would be close by.

The glow of Morgause’s eyes dimmed before she narrowed them.

“Morgana didn’t accept my gift.” Morgause’s voice was soft, almost sorrowful at first. “She was weak, so here I am. You will kneel before me Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur didn’t understand. What had happened to Morgana? He felt a pull on his legs. Arthur fought it. It was too much. His knees hit the grass. Gwaine was directly behind Morgause. Her dress was alight, but she just cackled.

“Did you really think fire would vanquish me?” Morgause grinned down at Gwaine.

“Well, yeah,” Gwaine responded.

“You all really are fools. And don’t think I don’t know what you are up to Merlin.” Morgause turned towards the veil. 

Arthur had forgotten about Merlin the moment he saw the veil. His head snapped to where Morgause was looking. What was that idiot doing inches from the veil? Merlin was flung away from the portal.

“I really wish Morgana was here to see this,” Morgause commented. “Soon you’ll all be dead, and we can be free of the Pendragons’ tyranny.”

_ Tyranny?  _

A roar echoed through the courtyard. Fire rained down from the sky. Arthur ducked for cover. This was an oddly familiar situation. A dragon swooped down from directly above him. A rush of wind hit the back of Arthur’s head.

_Hadn’t_ _he killed the last dragon?_

__ The dragon rushed into the veil. The veil crackled and expanded. A dark light filled Arthur’s vision. He felt weightless. There were screams, and then he wasn’t aware of anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit later than I planned, but Arthur is a simple minded fool, and apparently I’m too poetic to write him easily (insert the scene where Merlin tells Leon he’s teaching Arthur poetry and Arthur’s incredulous expression). Anyways my beta reader made me rewrite Arthur’s perspective this chapter. She’s a bitch. In the future I’ll give you notice when I’m writing Arthur’s chapters. The next chapter is going to be from Morgana’s perspective.
> 
> P.S. Yes my beta reader does read the notes. She encouraged me to call her a bitch.


	6. Morgana

Passing through the veil felt as if Morgana had walked straight into a blizzard without any clothes. Her vision was completely obscured; she couldn’t see anything. She shivered and curled into herself clinging to the rough hewn fabric of her dress. The familiar feeling helped ground her when all of her other senses were stripped away. Ambient magic pulsated around her and her magic reached out to it. Her magic struggled trying to connect to it. There was a sudden pop, and Morgana tumbled forward.

The light blinded her even as she shielded her eyes. She heard leaves rustling as a breeze passed by. Her skin slowly began to warm from the sunlight as her eyes adjusted to light. The trees were such a vibrant green. She hadn’t expected to find a forest, or anything else for that matter, on the other side of the veil. _Except for the dead._ They were suspiciously absent. A raven cawed. Morgana’s heartbeat quickened and her gaze snapped towards the raven in a nearby tree. It was watching her attentively. As the raven leaned forward to take flight the trees began to fall away. 

Morgana’s hands tingled. _This isn’t right._ A castle rose out of the ground. The raven glided towards one of its towers where a boy was plummeting to the ground. _No!_ Morgana summoned her magic trying to stop the boy’s fall. She stumbled backwards from the force of her own magic. Morgana saw his descent slow, but she knew it wasn’t enough to save him from harm.

Morgana blinked and the boy and the tower had been replaced by a sunlit field. A giant wolf was rolling around in the grass. A white peregrine falcon hopped around the wolf. _Visions. It’s the only thing that could explain the constantly shifting scenery._ The bird pounced on the wolf and it tugged at the wolf’s fur until it frolicked after the falcon. Morgana sat down and continued to watch the two animals play, it was rare for her to see such a peaceful vision.

The field shifted into a city plaza. She was looking up at a young boy with watery golden eyes, a grin, and an extended hand directly in front of her. Dragons circled above their heads. She wasn’t even aware of her own hand reaching out for his until it was in front of her face. Her chest tightened as she looked at her hand. _It’s so tiny...childlike._ The boy gripped her hand and pulled her up. Her entire body felt different, smaller. A woman with platinum blonde hair approached them, and crouched down to her level pulling Morgana into a hug. Warmth spread through her chest. 

It ended too soon. The world around her began to tilt. The boy and woman vanished. She was in a throne room now. There was a golden dragon nested in a pile of swords, thorns and roses at the head of the room. The rest of the room was filled with peasants and nobles alike bowing down before the dragon.

She blinked and suddenly she was outside by a river surrounded by craggy stones and grass. Morgana stood on a cliff directly above the water. Further downstream men made of stone were viciously attacking men in leather armor. One of the stone men’s hands grabbed one of the soldier's bare arms. The soldier became completely covered by stone as well. He turned on his friends, who soon fell victim to the same curse. Morgana felt pure magic ripple through the land and the image changed. The stone men were laughing and smiling with normal men. Magic was everywhere. Flowers started growing between the craggy stones. Women and children danced. People were happy.

Morgana felt the earth shift beneath her feet. The rocks underneath her fell apart. Her stomach dropped as the rushing water was about to close in on her. There was a loud thump and a crack she landed on her side. It was cold. _The river froze._ All around her was an icy wasteland. The wind was howling. The dead were returning to life to devour the living. Morgana’s heart hammered in her chest. Her hands and feet were going numb. One of the undead turned his head in her direction. His icy blue eyes seemed oddly aware of her in that moment. Morgana’s stomach turned as he started approaching her. 

A caw echoed across the landscape. A black blur shot towards Morgana. _The raven from earlier?_ It whacked her in the chest. _Wait, did it have a third eye?_ The icy tundra faded. Morgana’s head pounded. She couldn’t focus. Her eyes ached and her muscles were sore. It felt like there was a weight sitting on her chest. She struggled to breathe. Her skin crawled. She didn’t even notice hitting the cobblestones or the bald man that stood in front of her as she passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while to figure out. Visions are tricky to write. Also my beta reader had to pretend to hit me in the face to help me write the raven flying into Morgana. Anyways I’m curious as to what you all think about what Morgana’s visions might mean. Answer below in the comments! Next chapter will be from Lancelot’s perspective.
> 
> As a side note I’ve been working on writing another fanfic that is a Merlin and Frozen II crossover. So look forward to that if you’re interested.


	7. Lancelot

Lancelot blinked. Early morning sunlight pierced through the overcast sky. Screams and clanging metal hit Lancelot’s ears.  _ A battle.  _ It was going on beyond the red tents of the Lannister encampment that he was standing directly outside of. One man charged at him, sword held at the ready. Lancelot hurriedly pulled his sword out of its scarab to defend himself. His brain was running a mile a minute, but he held off any pondering until after he had taken care of the Stark banner man.

Lancelot surveyed the area. It didn’t seem like anyone else was going to attack him, but he kept an eye out as he attempted to retreat back into the camp. Unfortunately he was carried along by the stream of rushing men and his mind began to wander. He had just been fighting off an undead army. That army had just about killed him. Pain had flooded his body and he was certain that he was going to die. Darkness had overwhelmed him, and then he was here, at the Green Fork surrounded by living enemies and allies. More importantly his pain was gone. He was well rested without injuries.

He didn't know how to respond to that, but right now his main concern was staying alive, especially once another man engaged him in a fight. After a few parried strikes, Lancelot was able to quickly deliver a blow to the man’s head that ended the skirmish. A yell sounded behind him, and he spun around. A man charged towards him with a raised sword. Lancelot blocked the man’s swing.

Thoughts continued to bombard Lancelot’s brain. He fought instinctively. _What was going on? Why was he here?_ An image rose in his mind. A knight - _Ser Lorimer_ -, who Lancelot - _no_ _Podrick Payne_ \- had squired for, telling him that they would be defending the Green Fork from Robb Stark’s army. _How did he know about these things? He was Ser Lancelot of Camelot, but, no, somehow he also had memories of being Podrick Payne, who was currently a squire for Tyrion Lannister._ The two different lives clashed in his head. Lancelot didn’t know what to make of it. _Was he even Lancelot anymore? Or was he Podrick...Pod? Some mix of the two?_

Those thoughts gave him pause, slowing his reaction speed. A blade made it past his guard and into his arm.  _ So much for being uninjured _ . The cut stung, but it was a superficial injury.  _ Don’t let thoughts distract from the battle. Focus on the now. _

__ He was able to focus, just long to dispatch his current target. His mind quickly wandered again.  _ He’s just a squire. He shouldn’t even be on the battlefield fighting...Wait, what? He was a knight with years of combat experience. Of course he was qualified, but he’s not fighting for Camelot. Lancelot had no business getting involved in this fight. Pod has no business fighting. He should go find Tyrion. He should try to find his way back to Camelot. But Camelot didn’t exist here in Westeros or Essos. _

Lancelot was thrown out of his thoughts when he saw a young boy dressed only in an overly large red tunic with a sword much too large for him to hold properly.  _ What was a young boy doing on the battlefield? _ On the ground behind the boy was Lord Tyrion. Lancelot’s heart hammered in his chest.  _ Was Tyrion dead or just unconscious?  _ The boy was struggling to hold his sword a loft, and a banner man from House Bolton was approaching them menacingly. 

Lancelot dashed over blocking the man’s strike on the boy. Lancelot led him away from the boy as they traded blows back and forth. Of the men that Lancelot had fought here, he was certainly more skilled than the other northerners. One of Lancelot’s strikes landed too lightly, barely scratching the man. Lancelot was barely able to dodge or block the man’s strikes. 

The blade stung as it cut into his leg. Sweat poured down Lancelot’s face. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. Suddenly the man fell to his knees, and a knife entered the man’s neck. Blood poured out of the wound. As the man fell to the ground Lancelot noticed more blood streaking the back of his thighs.

“Lancelot,” the boy exclaimed. Lancelot glanced up at the boy, who was directly in front of him holding the bloody knife.  _ How did the boy know his name? And why does he look so familiar? _

Lancelot shook his head and smiled at him.  _ That’s not important right now. _ “Thank you for your assistance, young man.” He looked at Lancelot with a raised eyebrow in that moment, but Lancelot continued onward. “But I think it would be best if we got you off the battlefield.” He glanced back over at Tyrion. Now that he was closer he could see his chest move as he breathed.  _ Good, he’s alive. _

“Lancelot, what is going on? We were just on the Isle of the Blessed fighting Morgause, and now I have no idea what is going on. We just randomly showed up here, and...and Merlin has magic.” His voice broke a little bit towards the end. 

Lancelot paused. He stared at the blond boy. It couldn’t be, but here he was with memories of a completely different life than the one he swore he was living just hours ago. It had to be him. That’s why the boy looked so familiar. And why he knew about the Isle of the Blessed when there wasn’t supposed to be an Isle of the Blessed.

“Arthur,” Lancelot asked.

Arthur nodded. Then Arthur’s last words hit Lancelot like a ton of bricks.  _ Wait… did he just say that he knows about Merlin’s magic? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work hit me hard this week. Being an essential worker is no fun, but here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Next week’s chapter is from Arthur’s perspective, so we’ll see if it actually gets posted next week or the following week.


	8. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re actually in the Game of Thrones universe now, and as such I just want warn you all for graphic displays of violence, vulgarity, and the like. It is Game of Thrones, so that should be a warning in itself. So with that out of the way I hope you guys enjoy!

The scent of dirt, the tang of iron, and smoke filled the air around Arthur. The din of shouts and clanging metal instantly alerted him of a nearby battle. _ Morgause and her undead army!  _ Arthur’s eyes flung open and he jumped into a seated position. Or at least he tried to. He was just as quickly falling to the ground from a heavy weight encasing his body. He felt off kilter.  _ Something is wrong. _ Arthur craned his neck up to glance down his body, yet he only found his armor. His chain mail pooled around his torso.  _ What the hell? _

Arthur dragged his vision upwards; towards the sound of battle...between purely living combatants several meters away from him. Morgause and her army was nowhere in sight. Arthur shifted his gaze to look at what was going on to his left and right. There were red tents and dead or unconscious bodies. Craning his neck back he saw more red tents and a flag. The red and gold were identical to his own house, but a lion stood where Arthur was used to seeing a dragon.  _ What is going on? This isn’t the Isle of the Blessed. It’s not even Camelot.  _ He shifted his head back to the battle. The battle had shifted slightly closer to his position. 

__ He threw his head back down to the ground and stared at the overcast sky briefly before starting to shimmy downwards into his armor. Chainlinks sharply pressed into Arthur’s jawline. Arthur’s hands slithered up towards his neckline, but anger began to ball up in his chest as he struggled to get his hands up there. He muttered curses under his breath as one of his fingers bent backwards.  _ Since when was he so weak that he struggled to lift his own chain mail?  _ At least he finally managed to push it up over his head. Arthur let out a growl as his hair caught on the hood of the chain mail.  _ Bloody hell.  _ He jerked his head to the side to free it and shuffled furthered down. It was going too slow for Arthur’s liking, and it was more frustrating than anything else having to slowly squirm out of his freaking armor.

Finally Arthur felt his feet hit prickly grass and he increased the speed of his escape. That was until he felt his bare ass touch down onto biting metallic chains. He froze.  _ What happened to his pants?  _ Arthur's face was ablaze.  _ Did he just almost wag his dick and balls in view of an entire army? Yes, he most certainly and unfortunately did.  _ Arthur latched on to the hem of his tunic, which he had realized had ridden up all the way to his chest, and yanked it down over his nearly exposed dick and ass. Only then did Arthur finish squirming his way out of his armor making sure that his shirt came with him.

Arthur stood up straight in his baggy undershirt once he had freed himself. An initial glance at his pants and boots told him that they would be too big for him as well. Arthur glanced back at the battle hoping that no one had seen that embarrassing display. Fortunately no one seemed to be paying him attention and the combatants hadn’t progressed too much closer to him.  _ Why does everything look bigger than it should?  _ It wasn’t just Arthur’s clothes but also the people, the swords, the tents. The world just looked to be too large. 

It was as Arthur was rolling up his too long sleeves he noticed his hands. His heartbeat seemed to still. His hands were so small and delicate. Years of calluses built up from handling weapons were gone. His gaze traveled up his arm. His muscles seemed to have vanished. The grip his hand had on his bicep confirmed that. Arthur’s heart beat erratically as his hands groped his face. It was much more rounded than it had been in years. He felt his body begin to shake.  _ Was he actually in a child’s body? What magic was responsible for this? _

A loud ring of metal on metal hit his ears. The battle was drawing closer to him. Arthur glanced up. A tall man was quickly approaching him. Arthur reached for his sword out of reflex. However his grip was all wrong, he couldn’t even hold it aloft.  _ This won’t work.  _ Then Arthur remembered:  _ The knife in his boot!  _ The man was upon him and swung at him right when Arthur leapt towards his boot. He heard ringing steel as he grabbed the knife.

Another man, clothed in red leather armor, had intercepted on Arthur’s behalf. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man.  _ There is something familiar about him.  _ Arthur noted the man’s slowing and sluggish movements.  _ He’s not going to last much longer.  _ Arthur couldn’t just stand there. He needed to act. So Arthur crept up behind the large man that had charged at him earlier. When he was directly behind the man Arthur drove the knife into his thigh. The man let out a bellow as Arthur struggled to pull out the knife. Arthur adjusted his feet into a wider stance and barely managed to yank out the knife as the man’s knees gave out.  _ Perfect.  _ Arthur twisted his knife around for a better angle and pushed the man’s head to the side to allow for a larger target. He couldn’t afford to miss. Arthur shoved his knife into the man’s throat. Blood pulsed out the wound coating Arthur’s hand. The scent of copper and iron was strong on Arthur’s tongue. Arthur’s knife slid out the man’s neck as the man fell to the ground. Arthur could smell the man’s urine as the man lost control of his bladder.

Arthur glanced back up at the other man. Then it hit him why he looked familiar.

“Lancelot,” Arthur exclaimed in elation.  _ He looks a bit different, even a bit younger- more clean shaven, but it’s him.  _ Lancelot’s brow wrinkled in confusion when he looked down on him.  _ Why did Lancelot have to be so much taller than him? They were the same bloody height last time he checked! _

“Thank you for your assistance, young man,” Lancelot responded.  _ Young man? Right, he’s a child now. Of course Lancelot wouldn’t recognize him.  _ Of course Lancelot’s words still irked him. He didn’t appreciate being treated like a child under any circumstances even if he currently looked like one!  _ How the fuck did this even happen? _

__ “Lancelot, what is going on?” Arthur tried to recall something that could have caused, but all he remembered was… “We were just on the Isle of the Blessed fighting Morgause, and now, I have no idea what is going on. We just randomly showed up here, and,” then he recalled what happened mere moments before entering the courtyard” ...and Merlin has magic.” He wished that weren’t true, but he had seen it. Arthur’s heart pounded. _ Fire formed in Merlin’s hand and he burnt those undead villagers. He had used magic right in front of him! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was able to blaze past my first rewrite, but for what ever reason the second rewrite dragged by and took most of this week. Also this is another case where my beta told me to split the chapter in half. Anyways next week’s chapter will pick up where this one left off.


	9. Arthur

Arthur vaguely heard Lancelot calling his name, just as he was only partially aware of Lancelot’s widening eyes and his mouth opening and closing several times. _Merlin has magic!_ That thought reverberated through his brain over and over again. He couldn’t truly focus on anything else, but Lancelot’s voice did finally manage to break through the onslaught of Arthur’s thoughts.

“I don’t think now is the time to discuss Merlin milord.” _What?_ “We’re in the middle of a battle.” _Right, of course. How could he be so stupid as to forget that?_ “And Lord Tyrion should be looked at by a physician.” _Lord Tyrion?_ “Not to mention you’re not exactly dressed for battle.” 

Arthur gritted his teeth. _This isn’t the place for that conversation, Lancelot is right about that._ Arthur forced back the memories of Merlin’s magic and focused on the present.

Arthur conceded, “Alright, let’s grab him and retreat into the encampment.” Arthur followed Lancelot to this Lord Tyrion intending to help carry him to a nearby tent. When Arthur kneeled next to the man Lancelot put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“I don’t mean any offense, sire, but I don’t think in your current predicament you’ll be able to help carry him.” Anger balled up in Arthur’s chest. He hated being weak, not being able to do things himself. “Could you help me take off his armor though? I doubt I’ll be able to lift him properly with it.” 

Arthur started by unbuckling the man’s sword belt before moving on to his pauldrons. Lancelot started undoing the man’s other pauldron. Footsteps pounded on the nearby ground. Arthur's head whipped towards the noise. A man in red leather armor was running towards them. 

“Pod,” shouted the man, “I’m glad to see you’re still alive!”

Lancelot glanced up with a relaxed posture, so Arthur went back to removing Tyrion’s pauldron. Clearly Lancelot knew the man.

“Tomas,” Lancelot responded in kind as he paused his work. “What are you doing back here? I thought you were supposed to be on the front line.”

Although there was something odd about what they just said, Arthur couldn’t place it. Arthur set the pauldron to the side and set to work on the chest plate while occasionally glancing up Tomas.

“I was, but the battle is nearly over. Ser Addam ordered me and several other squires back to get help for the wounded.” Tomas’ gaze met Arthur’s before he looked back at Lancelot. “Who’s the boy?”

_Did he just snub him?_ Indignation balled up in Arthur’s chest. He could speak for himself.

“I am Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot!” Arthur leveled Tomas a glare, but Tomas’ brow wrinkled in confusion at Arthur. Tomas’ head swiveled back to Lancelot and sent him a questioning look.

“Ok then, just get off the battlefield as soon as you can. Just because the battle is nearly won doesn’t mean it’s safe especially for a kid. See you later, Pod.”

Arthur watched Tomas go as he growled out, “I am not a kid!”

“I know that, Arthur,” Lancelot responded as he reached over Tyrion and rested a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. It was comforting and he appreciated Lancelot’s support. Lancelot continued, “unfortunately not everyone is going to see that.” 

Arthur huffed. The indignation persisted within Arthur’s chest as he brushed off Lancelot’s hand. He didn’t want to talk about that. They had other priorities. “Let’s just hurry up and get Lord Tyrion to a physician.”

They took off the rest of his armor without any disruptions and soon enough Tyrion was hefted over Lancelot’s shoulder. They made their way through the encampment and oddly enough Lancelot seemed to know exactly where they were going.

Arthur would occasionally hear the men left in the camp making comments that were clearly directed at him. _Who’s that boy? Is he a Lannister? He certainly looks like one. Ha, we have another imp running around camp._ But what disturbed Arthur the most was the couple of men who let out cat calls, calling him a pretty boy. Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. His heart beat rapidly against his chest. He wanted to punch those men’s faces in, but at the same wanted to flee. _He needed some proper clothes. His baggy tunic didn’t offer him enough protection._ He felt exposed. He hated that feeling.

When Lancelot finally entered the physician's tent Arthur gladly hurried in after him. He was glad to have those men’s eyes off of him. The scent of blood and earth was still strong in here, but there was a familiar scent that Arthur associated with Gaius’ chambers. That made a tension in his shoulders that he didn’t even know about suddenly relax. Arthur noticed about a dozen or so beds, of which five were already taken. Stools sat between each of the beds with supply laden tables at the foot of them. Lancelot lowered himself as closely to the nearest bed, his injured leg shaking with exertion, before he dropped the short man on it. Arthur noticed Lancelot’s wince as Tyrion hit the bed and then Lancelot’s leg gave out. _Damn it, I should have been the one to carry him!_ Lancelot was able to turn over so that his back was pressed up against Tyrion’s bed. 

The physician bustled over to them. He eyed them going over to Tyrion first.

“What happened,” the physician inquired as he examined the injury on Tyrion’s skull.

“I’m not sure, we found him passed out on the ground,” Arthur responded.

The physician nodded and looked down at Lancelot, “and you, Podrick?”

_That wasn’t the first time someone had referred to Lancelot by that moniker_. 

“Just a cut on my leg,” Lancelot replied.

_And he was responding to it._

“I’ll be back with supplies in a moment.” The physician turned to Arthur. “Boy, try and help him onto that bed there.” He nodded to the bed next to them before striding away.

_He wasn’t a boy!_ Arthur sent a glare in his direction, but it wasn’t as heated anymore. It didn’t last very long either because he wanted to make sure Lancelot got off the ground. Arthur helped support Lancelot’s weaker side so he could get up and lead him a couple of steps to the bed. Arthur felt his own exhaustion hit him, so he collapsed onto the closest stool. They fell into a silence as they watched the physician return and tend to Tyrion’s injury.

Soon enough the physician began cutting open the fabric around Lancelot’s wound. Dried blood was crusted over the wound and clothing. Lancelot hissed as the fabric was pulled away. The dried blood flaked off, reopening the wound. The physician was quick to clean it and lather it in honey before wrapping the wound up in bandages. Lancelot made to get up but the physician pushed him back down.

“I want you to stay here and get some rest for now. You look like you're about to drop from exhaustion, Podrick,” the physician stated. Lancelot nodded and the physician got up and went to check on a new patient that had entered the tent.

_There is that name again._ “Podrick,” Arthur questioned with incredulity.

“Yes,” Lancelot responded looking up at Arthur.

“No, I mean why is everyone calling you that?”

“Oh,” Lancelot’s gaze drifted away, and he briefly paused “I don’t really know, but somehow I am both Lancelot and Podrick Payne.” He looked back up at Arthur with a curious expression. “Is it not the same for you? Having the memories of two lives: one from Camelot and one from here in Westeros?”

_What? That’s insane. There is no way that is possible, yet he was child._ He also knew magic was involved. _It also explained the odd feeling he had earlier when Lancelot was talking with Tomas._

“No, it’s just me.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was starting to build. “What is going on, Lancelot? How did we get here?” 

“I don’t exactly know, sire, I was nearly dead before we got here but we’re a long way from Camelot. I’m not even sure we could get back to Camelot.”

“Of course we can, we just need to figure out where we are and get our hands on a map.”

“No, I mean, I somehow know where we are, and my knowledge of Westeros tells me that Camelot doesn’t exist!”

_Shit._ “Magic really screwed us over this time.”

Lancelot froze. His body was overly tense. _Did he know something?_

“Lancelot? What do you know?” Arthur’s heart seized up. _Did it have something to do with Merlin? Was he responsible for them being here like this?_

“Arthur...Merlin would never do anything like this, at least not on purpose. He was intending to sacrifice himself to save you and Camelot.” _That’s why he was so close to the veil._ “I’m not sure what happened in the moments before we got here,” Arthur looked away, “but I’ve known about Merlin’s magic for years and he’s always been loyal to you above all else. You know Merlin, Arthur: he’s a good man.”

Arthur’s heartbeat quickened. _Was he a good man?_ His hands clenched. _Merlin’s had magic for years...he’s been his friend for years. Merlin had betrayed trust._ Arthur wanted to scream, to throw something. _Did Merlin never think to tell him? Merlin had apologized before burning those undead villagers...it must have been Merlin who pushed him back right before he set them on fire._ Arthur’s jaw tightened. _Merlin could have killed him, but he didn’t. Could Merlin be both his good friend and a sorcerer?_

Arthur glanced back towards Lancelot and ended up holding his gaze. It was so earnest and pleading. Could Lancelot, the most noble man he knew, be able to defend and protect Merlin if he wasn't a good man?

“He still betrayed me, Lancelot, and magic is still against the law,” Arthur said through his clenched teeth. He felt his headache worsen. Arthur needed to change the subject.

“Have you seen any of the knights since we got here?” 

Lancelot sighed. “No, you’re the only one I’ve seen. That doesn’t mean they aren’t here.”

“We should split up and start looking for them.”

“Arthur, you’re only wearing a shirt, and there are two armies out there fighting.”

_Right. I keep forgetting that and that physician is eying us pretty closely._ “Alright. We’ll start the moment the physician clears you. In the meantime, I’ll start looking for clothes that fit.”

Lancelot gave him an incredulous look.

“What?” Arthur whined.

“We’re in the middle of a battlefield. Do you really think you’ll find children’s clothes let alone armor made for someone your size?”

_Is Lancelot sassing him?_ “You’ve been spending too much time with Merlin,” Arthur mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter ended up being almost double the length of my normal chapters. Yippee!  
> I also want to thank everyone who has commented on this fanfic. So thank you: Theostry, rercho, Azure_and_Gold, blue_analytic, and Jadethecryptic! Your comments really do help me get through chapters I struggle with and motivate me to keep writing. Also a big thanks to those who have left kudos and subscribed! Those also bring me joy and keep me motivated.  
> The next chapter will be from Percival’s perspective.


	10. Percival

Percival stood in front of the mirror in his room water dripped off of his form and trailed all the way back to the tub on the other side of the chamber. The light from his open windows allowed him to see his features clearly. He was definitely shorter, but he was tall enough to look like a mess of gangly limbs. His face wasn’t nearly so chiseled. He watched his reflection as he ran a hand over his chin. It was softer, rounder. The last time Percival remembered looking like this was before his family had been killed by Cenred, which was when he had put down his books and picked up a sword.

The moment Percival thought of his dead family- he was suddenly baffled. _His family was alive and well: living in Horn Hill. Well everyone but his brother. No, he never had a brother- only sisters, yet his memories clearly showed him images of his elder brother, Sam. Of course that was before their father’s last “hunt” with Sam._ Percival flinched at his last memory of his brother. He hadn’t exactly treated his brother kindly. Dickon had mocked him: calling him a coward and a waste of space. Things that he knew would hurt him. Mortification filled Percival. _Why would he ever treat his family like that?_ It was abhorrent to think of how he had been so single mindedly devoted to his father that he would treat anyone like that let alone his own brother.

Percival’s stomach growled loudly. _When was the last time he ate?_ He remembered eating a light breakfast before arriving on the Isle of Blessed. His mind flashed to the undead villagers that swarmed him and Lancelot. Several of them had charged at him. After that there had been so much pain as their teeth, nails, and steel dug into his skin. He couldn’t get up: too many villagers had been piled on top of him. The pain had been so unbearable, and then they were gone. By that point it had hurt too much to move. He had heard shouts in the distance, and the putrid indescribable scent of burnt flesh filled his nostrils as his vision faded. Percival shivered. _He wasn’t there any more._ He breathed in deeply. _It’s not happening now._ He breathed out. _He’s fine, he’s safe._

His stomach rumbled once more. _Hadn’t he been cleaning himself for dinner with his very much alive family because he -Dickon- had been on a hunt with his father? A father that he had admired and looked up to._ Shame filled him: how could he look up to a man who treated his family so poorly? He could finally see his father’s flaws: harsh, unaccepting, and unforgiving of anyone, including family, that thought differently than him. _Maybe he could convince his father to change his views on Sam? No, persuasion wasn’t ever one of his strengths in either of his lives and his father was too stubborn. It was likely too late to bring Sam back anyway. He would already be sworn in as a member of the Night’s Watch by now. Maybe-_

A ripple shifted across his stomach. _Food._ He needed to finish getting ready for dinner, so his stomach would shut up. With one last look at his teenaged face Percival strode over to his wardrobe and quickly plucked out a tunic, pants, and a belt. As he dressed his mind wandered once more. He had acted just as badly towards his brother in his last couple of months here. He had ignored Sam at first when all he had wanted was acceptance for being who he was. Then when Sam had kept coming to him he had laughed at his brother’s concerns and told him to man up. He mocked him horribly for overeating: calling him a fat little piggy and stealing his food from him. He angrily told him to put down his books and pick up a sword. _He couldn’t justify his actions or words._ With his clothes and boots fully on, Percival left his room and strode down the oddly familiar hallways to the dining room.

_His sisters would have never done that to him when they were alive. They had accepted him and loved him when he had been so much like Sam growing up as Percival. He had just wanted to learn. He didn’t want to get hurt. He didn’t want to fight. As Dickon he treated his brother so poorly for being the same as a young Percival. He needs to apologize to him. He needs to see him again and tell him he loves him. Deep down he knew that Dickon had loved his brother too, but it had been buried underneath his father’s bigotry._

Percival shook his head to clear it. He stood in front of the large wooden doors of the dining room. He had to be Dickon Tarly for his family, not Percival. As he shoved open the creaky doors the scent of roasted boar and vegetables wafted up through his nose. His mouth salivated as he took in a deep breath. Candle light illuminated the shocked faces of his mother and sister, who were already seated at the table. His father was nowhere to be seen. 

As he pulled out his chair he asked, “Mother, Talla, what’s wrong?” He sat down glancing back and forth at the two of them when his sister spoke.

“You’re underdressed, Dickon.” Her face scrunched upwards.“ You know how father feels about being underdressed for family meals.”

His back stiffened. _Had he been so focused on his current dilemma that he forgot that?_ Percival glanced down at his tunic and trousers. _Yes, he dressed like Percival would for dinner, not Dickon. Just head back to your room now and get changed. Father never has to see._

His chair screeched backwards as Percival pushed his chair back. “I’m sorry.” He stood. “I’ll go change and be ba-”. Percival was cut off by the groaning of the wooden doors. _Too late._ His father was striding towards the head of the table. Percival slided back into his chair. His heart quivered within his chest. He hadn’t ever disobeyed one of his father’s rules before. _Would his father hit him like he did to Sam? Refuse him dinner? Forbidden from going on hunts? Did he even enjoy hunts anymore?_

Percival glanced up at his father as the man sat down. His father already had his head turned towards him. His father’s eyes narrowed as his eyes traveled downwards. His father slowly turned his head towards the food laden plates the servants put out before them.

As Percival thanked the servant his father spoke, “Dickon, I expect you will be dressing better for tomorrow’s dinner with our guests.”

“Yes, father.” An awkward silence followed after that as his family dug into their food. _Was that it? No actual punishment?_ Percival started cutting up his own chunk of boar to eat, but outside of the clinking silverware on plates the silence stretched. Any words he might have wanted to say to them got stuck in his throat, where a tight painful lump had formed. _Had his relationship with his family truly gotten this bad?_

He wanted to receive his father’s blessing to go North to the Wall. _But would his father let him? He was now his father’s heir and the road would be even more dangerous considering the war._ _Wouldn’t his father also disapprove of his reasoning? His father viewed Sam as a disappointment. He’d say that there was no reason for Dickon to apologize to his brother. No, it seemed like silence was a better idea until his father left._

Despite his hunger Percival was slowly chewing his dinner at that point. When his father did leave he let out a breath and relaxed his achingly tight grip on his fork and knife. The knot in his throat was still present though. A chair softly squealing across the stone floor. His mother was standing up.

“Wait,” Percival cried. “I need to talk to you and Talla.” He waited a moment for her to sit down. The rough wood of the table pressed into his hands. His throat still ached, but with less intensity. His mother had already sat down, but he didn’t know how to begin. Both his mother and Talla were staring at him with concern.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting recently,” Percival continued as he watched his mother’s eyes widen, “especially since Sam left. I haven’t been a good brother or son.”

“You’re actually apologizing to us?” Talla’s voice had a dubious nature to it as her eyes seemed to scrutinize everyone of his twitching muscles. _Why did this conversation have to be so bloody uncomfortable?_

Percival nodded in response to her question. “I know that doesn’t excuse any of my past behaviors, but I want to do better.” _Not just with his brother, but his mother and sister. The awkwardness of this conversation was proof that he needed to do better by his entire family._ “I want to spend more time with the two of you.”

It was almost comical the way Talla went from eying him closely to her jaw dropping and her eyes practically popping out of her head. In the same instance he noticed his mother lean forward and he switched his attention to her. Her eyes were huge and had water gathering in them. Her hands glided along the table towards him. Percival reached out and caressed her soft hands within his own hands. A grin stretched across her face. There was a sudden lightness in Percival’s chest.

“You really mean that, don’t you,” his mother said sweetly.

It wasn’t actually a question but Percival nodded anyways. He missed having a mother and now he had a second chance.

“What made you change your mind,” Talla asked.

Percival’s heartbeat picked up at that question. _What could he even tell them when he wasn’t entirely sure of the situation. He couldn’t tell them he lived a completely different life before now and that’s what changed his mind._ Both his mother and sister were staring at him, waiting for an answer. _He didn’t know why or how he got here, but that didn’t matter right now. His family did though._

“I just realized how important you two are to me today,” Percival smiled at the two of them. “I was also thinking about Sam earlier, and I need to see him again. I need to apologize to him.”

Talla and his mother glanced at each other with a gleam of sadness reflected in their eyes. His mother turned back to him first. “He’s already a member of the Night’s Watch, honey. He’s not allowed to leave the Wall.”

“I know that. I would like to go see him. I can’t leave things with him the way I did.”

“Your father wouldn’t agree.”

“Then help me come up with a reasonable excuse for me to leave to tell him.”

Talla spoke up with a grin, “oh, this sounds like fun!” His older sister was practically bouncing in her seat. _Well it didn’t take much to convince her._

Percival turned to his mother with a pleading face, “Please, I need to do this.”

She glanced between him and Talla. “I suppose we could come up with something.”

He quickly got out of his seat and crossed over to his mother’s chair. He enveloped her in a hug and leaned in close to her ear. “Thank you, mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update everyone. My work suddenly picked up and I got the weirdest hours. I got to see my family and boyfriend for the first time since the Stay at Home order started. Then everything got consumed with the BLM, and I just couldn’t put my attention on writing.  
> Anyways I plan on moving to updating once every two weeks for now, so I can catch up on writing and stay abreast with everything that’s going on. Thank you guys for the support!  
> The next chapter will be from Merlin’s perspective again.


	11. Merlin

Everything was dark and empty, and it was pressing down on Merlin. He felt a heavy weight within his chest that seemed to be restraining his magic. A cold and foreign magic pulsated around him. The strange magic felt raw and dangerous like it wanted to eat him alive. A chill lingered on Merlin’s skin and seeped into his bones. He wasn’t on the Isle of the Blessed anymore. _Was he in the veil? But no...that was impossible..._ Except his mind conjured up the memory of what happened only moments before he arrived here.

**His arse and lower back stung from their harsh contact with the ground. He hated getting caught. He needed to get up. To stop Morgause and her army he had to enter the veil.**

 **Just as he was standing a roar sounded from above. Merlin’s heart stuttered. Kilgharrah...Shit the egg! How could he have forgotten? He could still feel the comforting weight of the egg hanging off his shoulder where it was safely contained in his knapsack. There wasn’t time to sneak away though. Fire illuminated the courtyard. Kilgharrah soared directly over Merlin’s head and into the veil. No! What did that stupid overgrown reptile think he was doing? Merlin wanted to command him to stop, but his throat seized up. Kilgharrah’s giant scaly arse was quickly swallowed up by the veil. In the same moment, a wave of magic shot out of the veil and the darkness of the veil rapidly expanded. Merlin couldn’t move. He could only watch as the magic from the veil shot towards him and he was barely even aware of the dark encompassing him.**

Merlin’s body throbbed in time with the magic’s pulsations. He could feel it painfully crawling across his skin. _It was too much. It was all too much._ _He couldn’t take it._ There was a pressure building behind his eyes and his throat still ached. _How could Kilgharrah do that? Didn’t he know how much Merlin had lost and suffered over the last five years? The lives of Will, Freya, his father and his friendship with Morgana. The times he almost lost his mother and Gaius. Kilgharrah was his only connection to his father, the last of his kin, and they had just started mending their relationship. Did Kilgharrah not know how much he meant to Merlin? That sacrificing himself in Merlin’s place was utterly selfish?_

Merlin’s heart constricted as hot tears rolled down cheeks. _Why did he keep experiencing these loses when he was just trying to protect Arthur and Camelot?_ His tear tracks turned cold. Merlin couldn’t take in enough air. He was struggling to breathe. Then another thought occurred to him. _Where was Arthur? Lancelot? Gwaine?_ He glanced around feeling idiotic for not checking earlier. 

Only they weren’t there. _He needed to get away from here. He needed to get back to Arthur, to Camelot._ He couldn’t let Kilgharrah’s sacrifice be in vain.

“Emrys,” a familiar voice spoke from behind Merlin. Merlin jumped. He thought he had been alone, but when he turned around he found the Cailleach staring at him. The woman didn’t speak or blink and that put Merlin further on edge. Merlin broke the silence. 

“Where am I? What happened?”

“You are within the veil,” she responded, never breaking eye contact with him. 

“I never entered the veil.”

“You were meant to. The second sacrifice must be equal to that of the first. The Great Dragon was too powerful to be the sacrifice. None the less he paid the price, and the additional power was siphoned outside of the veil.”

“That still doesn’t answer why I am here though.” _Why the hell did ancient magical beings have to be so cryptic?_

“The old magics are unpredictable, Emrys.”

_That was an unhelpful answer but he really should have expected that. Then again that isn’t important right now. He needed to get back to Arthur._

“How do I get out?”

“You cannot,” the Cailleach responded.

Merlin’s heart hammered in his chest. 

“But you just said that Kilgharrah paid the price. My destiny remains unfulfilled. I need to protect Arthur!” _Merlin_ _needed to bring magic back to Camelot._

“Those who enter the veil may never go back.” Merlin was shaking. _This couldn’t be it. He wasn’t dead. He needed to go back._

The Cailleach continued with a softer voice, “And your destiny was never set in stone, Emrys. There is always a choice, and the young Pendragon is no longer your concern.” 

_What!?! Not his concern?_ Heat rose in his cheeks despite the chill that continued to rack his very core. He didn’t want to believe it, but her voice left no room for lies or arguments. _Kilgharrah had told him that it was his destiny to protect Arthur. Although hadn’t Kilgharrah also convinced him that destiny couldn’t be changed? Now the Cailleach was telling him that destiny wasn’t set in stone. Had Kilgharrah lied to him? The dragon had been so defensive about it when Merlin had argued against his destiny. It had taken time for Merlin to believe him. Merlin knew that Kilgharrah had lied to him plenty of times after that._ Anger built in his chest starting to overtake the ache in his heart. _He tricked him into trading his mother’s life for Arthur’s. Then he forced him into freeing him so he could terrorize Camelot._ Guilt sat heavily in Merlin’s chest now. He would always regret causing Camelot that much pain. _His father had died because of Kilgharrah’s attack on Camelot._

 _Would Morgana still be his friend if it wasn’t for Kilgharrah’s terrible advice? What would have happened if he had followed his heart and told her of his magic? What about Mordred? If he wasn’t destined to kill Arthur he didn’t deserve Merlin’s ire._ Merlin’s heart twisted in his chest. _Just how badly did Kilgharrah twist Merlin’s judgement?_

_Kilgharrah never apologized for the pain he caused Merlin. He certainly admitted to his lies when Merlin called him out. Otherwise he seemed content to let Merlin believe his lies. Granted Kilgharrah’s advice about Arthur being a great king is what led to their friendship and Merlin wouldn’t trade that for the world. Regardless, the lies and his death hurt. What was he supposed to do?_

Merlin looked back up at the Cailleach. His throat ached and he had to force his next words out. “So what am I supposed to do then if I’m stuck here?”

“That is up to you. Goodbye, Emrys,” the Cailleach said as she began to fade away.

_He really should have expected that answer. Wait, what?_

“No, come back!” Merlin shouted but she was already gone. Merlin was alone. _What was he supposed to do?_ There was nothing here but Merlin became acutely aware of the weight of his satchel straining his shoulder in that moment. _He still had the egg._ Merlin pulled the egg out and cradled it in his arms. He ran his hands over it’s scaly surface. Merlin could sense the magic within it. The dragonling was alive. _He wasn’t alone, not really._

A wave of heat smacked into Merlin in that moment and he welcomed it. It felt glorious on chilled skin. He noticed a light glow forming in front of him. There seemed to be something familiar about it. Something that was similar to his own magic and the magic in the egg. The glow was growing brighter the longer Merlin looked at it and it was accompanied by a pleasant hum that was also growing stronger. He could practically feel sunlight on his skin. _Maybe there was a way out of here._

Merlin felt the vibrations of it from behind him before he actually heard the roar. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Apparently there was something out there in the darkness and it was coming for him. _He needed to get out of here._

The light called him forward. _It felt safe and comfy like home._ Merlin craved that feeling, so he fell forward into the light. He felt it pulsate in time with his own heart. It’s heat coursed over his body. _Whatever that ball was, Merlin was absolutely certain at this point that it was alive. It felt right to accept it._ That was Merlin’s last clear thought as the pain hit him. His muscles burned as they seized up. His magic felt like it was on fire. A scream tore from his lips and he could faintly hear the frantic beating of wings before he completely passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is a week late. I need to change my writing and editing habits because me and my beta are back to working full time. It’s a work in progress. Next chapter is from Kilgharrah’s perspective. Thanks for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions everyone!


	12. Kilgharrah

_ He had done it! Merlin was safe. The Cailleach couldn’t use him as her sacrifice. _

The tense feeling in his chest and wings finally eased. Kilgharrah couldn’t physically see anything within the darkness of the veil. However it was a place of magic and he could feel it buzzing around and through his soul. 

__ The veil’s magic thrummed directly under his scales like an itch. It latched onto his own and sharply pulled. He could feel his magic gush out of him. His hide and scales were left tingling. Fire burned in his stomach. The magical currents around him expanded. A high pitched ringing vibrated through his skull.  _ It sounded distant.  _ Everything felt foggy. 

There was a pop and his head cleared. The veil was silent again. Magic still glimmered around him. The immensity of it astounded him.  _ The last time the veil between worlds had opened, just over a hundred years ago, there hadn’t been this much magic. Although he wasn’t inside the veil at that time. _

__ Something about his body didn’t feel quite right. The way the magic curled around him felt disproportionate.  _ It felt more like when he was a young dragon and sensed the magic within the world around him for the first time. Everything had been so large back then. What he could sense of the veil’s magic made him feel dwarfed like his magic had been cut in half. Less than half, not even a full quarter.  _ Despite this, he felt more energetic than he had felt in hundreds of years. He couldn’t even feel the ache in his joints anymore.

Regardless, he wasn’t sure why he felt this way when his magic reserves were so low.  _ He needed to refresh them.  _ Kilgharrah focused on the magic threads that were skittering over his scales and pulled it inwards. They fought against his pull but he eventually managed to shove them into his very being, which was composed almost entirely of magic. As he grabbed at more stray threads he felt magic seeping out of him like he was already filled to the brim. With a quiver of his heart he realized that was exactly the case. 

_ How could he be full? He had lost so much of his magic and the veil’s currents were so large...He was missing something.  _ His magic churned within his chest as he thought. When the realization finally hit him his soul stilled right over his heart.  _ He was a dragonling once more.  _ A ball of fire formed without thought in his stomach at his rising anger.  _ It had taken him centuries to build up that much power! It would take another several hundred years to restore it.  _ That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A tendril pulsated from across the veil. It resonated with his soul.  _ It felt like home...The birthplace of dragons, of which he had only heard tales, but had dreamed of since a young age.  _ The fire calmed and was replaced by a warmth in his gut.  _ Maybe if he flew there and exited the veil he could restore his magic.  _ He felt a wiggle of hope in his chest as he reached out to grab onto nearby currents. This time he pushed it backwards and propelled himself forward into flight towards that feeling of home.  _ How he longed to see it. He really should have entered the veil the last time it opened. Kilgharrah never would have lost so much and been imprisoned. He could have been with his brethren instead. _

__ He felt a familiar flicker to his left. His internal warmth left as he realized who’s magic that was.  _ Merlin. The boy was supposed to be safe. What had happened? The veil should have closed the moment Kilgharrah entered.  _ Fire burned in his throat as his stomach flipped.  _ The way his magic had been expelled from his body. That far away ringing sound. Those were all signals that his magic had been doing something.  _ Kilgharrah banked towards where he could sense Merlin.  _ He needed Merlin to be safe. He shouldn’t be here. _

__ The thrum of Merlin’s soul grew stronger as Kilgharrah neared. At the same time Kilgharrah became aware of another source of magic. It was barely formed like it hadn’t had a chance to truly live. Kilgharrah’s heart beat erratically within his rib cage. There was something draconic about this younger magical entity. He didn’t trust it. Particularly not when it was that close to the young warlock, whose magic began to vibrate pleasantly as it brushed up against the younger soul. 

__ A roar tore from Kilgharrah’s throat.  _ The fool! What was he doing?  _ Merlin’s magic, his very soul was latching onto it.  _ How idiotic could that boy be to allow a foreign entity to mingle with his very being?  _ Kilgharrah pushed himself to fly faster.  _ He needed to stop the boy before the two fully joined.  _ He was almost there but the two of them were melding together. They were becoming indistinguishable from each other. Kilgharrah cursed at his limited access to magic, if it weren’t for it he could have been there by now to stop Merlin.

The currents in front of Kilgharrah wavered at the same moment he crashed into a much smaller Merlin. He hooked his claws into the warlock’s shoulders.  _ He couldn’t lose the boy.  _ The world shifted as wind rushed past his ears. They were falling. There was a faint shrieking in the distance.

_ Something wasn’t right. _ Kilgharrah reached out to the magic around him. It was becoming weaker, much weaker than it had been on the Isle of the Blessed or even Camelot. What was there became heavy with hot musk and decay. It lingered particularly in one place. The stench of rot,  _ of death _ , clung to the source. A human one.  _ Another pathetically weak witch who thought she could bend the powers of life and death to her will.  _

Kilgharrah’s throat rumbled with a growl. Dry sand scratched at his throat. The coppery tang of blood filled his nostril. Fur tickled the underside of his paws and legs as he tried shifting about on what appeared to be a human nest. He could still feel Merlin laying motionless beneath him, but there was another quiet but still heat behind him. Skin and cloth pressed into his haunches and tail. Kilgharrah tensed and his back arched. It was too crowded.  _ He needed open space away from these people. _

That sense of death neared him. Kilgharrah’s head whipped towards it as a snarl tore from his mouth. The witch paused in her approach. He could smell the fear with tones of blood and iron pouring off of her in waves.  _ Good, she should be afraid.  _ A pleasant trill rippled through his chest.  _ Although did she really think a bloody knife would harm him?  _ Kilgharrah scoffed as he narrowed his gaze at her.

“Run along now, witch,” Kilgharrah asserted threateningly or at least he tried to but it only came out as a series of growls and hisses.  _ What was that?  _ The witch continued standing there. The knife in her hand shook slightly. Kilgharrah tried speaking the common tongue once more but it only came out as more low pitched growls.

Kilgharrah felt his eyes widen as a thought occurred to him.  _ Dragons were incapable of speaking in human tongues until after a hundred years after hatching. Damn it, he wasn’t even sure what age his body currently was, so he wasn’t even sure when he’d gain back that ability! _

__ The witch’s shaking had stopped and she resumed stepping towards him. Her knife held confidentiality in front of her.  _ How dare she!  _ Kilgharrah lunged at her with jaws snapping only for his back leg to get caught in a strap of fabric. He kicked his back leg out several times in an attempt to free his leg and sent out a plume of fire in the witch’s direction. There was a thud behind him but that was overtaken by the witch’s wail of pain. Kilgharrah felt his lips stretch back into a grin. 

There was a scuffle of what sounded like a lot of feet from outside of the extremely flammable animal hide enclosure.  _ He really should get himself and Merlin out of here. He didn’t have enough power to deal with very many humans in this smaller form. _

__ Kilgharrah turned around and jumped partially back onto the human nest. He grabbed a mouth full of Merlin’s overly large and foul sweaty tasting tunic, which further dried out his mouth. There was a sound of ripping fabric as he tossed the boy on his back and nestled him between his wings. 

Kilgharrah heard the stamping feet drawing closer and the rustling of the hides being shoved aside as he burned a  _ pathetically small hole _ in the side of the enclosure,  _ which should have been up in flames _ . Kilgharrah grumbled. There were shouts coming from all around as he dashed through the other enclosures and the people. By the time he had passed the final enclosure, he could feel a burning sensation in his lungs and that wasn’t his internal flames. He wasn’t used to running especially not with the added weight on his back. Not to mention with all of the magic that had been siphoned out of him in the veil, he was starting to get exhausted. 

_ He needed to get them away.  _ He kept his legs going even when they started to sting from exhaustion as well.  _ They needed to get out of sight.  _ It felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.  _ He didn’t trust those humans. _ His legs shook. _ They were likely to follow him. He needed more distance.  _ His legs faltered beneath him and his underbelly stung as sand flew up into his face. 

Kilgharrah panted heavily. A cough rattled through his chest.  _ Damn this sand!  _ He couldn’t move anymore. He didn’t have the energy. He reached out to the magic around him on habit hoping to recharge his energy more quickly, but there was only a faint tendril of it. He tried to catch it, but it kept dancing out of his reach.  _ There wasn’t enough for him to latch onto.  _ Dread pooled in his stomach. He felt nauseous.  _ What was going on? What had happened to the magic on this side of the veil?  _

__ Kilgharrah closed his eyes and fell onto his side. He felt Merlin roll off onto his back and across his wing. Unfortunately for Kilgharrah the boy’s body stopped before he reached the sand. Kilgharrah groaned. The pressure of the boy’s body did nothing to help relieve the cramp in his wing that came from holding him steady on his back. He attempted to tug his wing back but a sharp pain raced through his aching wing in the process.  _ Not his best decision.  _ He let out a deep breath through his still aching lungs. While the pain in his wing was slowly dulling it was also branching out into his shoulder.

He desperately wanted to sink into the magic as he felt that one tendril of it taunting him just out of his reach. Kilgharrah sent a glare at it. He desperately wanted to burn that tendril, but it had no physical presence to actually burn.  _ The weak magic of this world made no sense. This was the land where dragons were born. There had to be more magic. Dragons were creatures of magic. They needed it to survive.  _ Kilgharrah felt his chest rumble with a growl.  _ There had to be more somewhere out there. _

__ Kilgharrah expanded his senses out a bit further and got distracted when he found Merlin’s magic.  _ He had gotten there too late.  _ His heart panged with a note of despair.  _ The boy’s magic was different. It was muffled by that soul from the veil yet Kilgharrah couldn’t even tell where the two souls began or ended. They were to be one and the same and that is what troubled Kilgharrah the most. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, long time no see! So life got crazy for the last couple of months. I had family visiting. I was working 48 hour weeks with only one day off. I had a family member the hospital for a bit. My beta and I struggled to find time to actually edit what I did have time to get written. Then there were fires and evacuations for the both of us as well. And most recently my beta went through a breakup. So yeah life has been tough. But so far everyone is doing alright regardless of everything that has happened. 
> 
> The other reason this chapter has taken so long is because my beta and I decided that extra chapters needed to be added from different character perspectives to make sure everything is clear and that everyone’s actions are in character. Kilgharrah‘s chapter was one of those chapters. I also need to finish writing Tywin’s chapter and then I‘m adding another chapter from Percival’s perspective. So yay for you guys you’re getting more content, but unfortunately it is taking longer to write because I didn’t have these prewritten like all my other chapters, which are going through major edits as well because of things I have added to all the chapter‘s I‘ve already posted. 
> 
> I also really struggled writing from Kilgharrah‘s POV, which is another reason for the delay. He‘s at least 300 years old and very much not human. And of course I had to stick him in a magical void because apparently I like to challenge myself in every possible way. So tell me what you guys think about his characterization. Did you like it? Or no? Either way let me know why. I really appreciate feed back and that goes for all my chapters.
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTICE: If I don’t update once every other week I‘ll leave a progress update on where I‘m at on the series page for this story. It is what I started doing while I was away for the last two months.
> 
> The next chapter will from Daenerys‘ POV. It’s already gone through my first edit and is waiting for my beta‘s edits. As a side note I am currently working on the first write of Tywin’s chapter, which is also a struggle as I try to adjust to his character. But barring any emergencies it should be ready to go in 4 weeks.
> 
> Sorry for the long author‘s note! And thanks for your continued support!


	13. Daenerys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Large parts of this chapter contain edited bits dialogue from Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 10: Fire and Blood to fit the changes I’ve made for this story.

Daenerys’ entire body felt weary and twinged with lingering pain from giving birth. The entire experience blurred together into one confusing mess of pain, fear, and anxiety. She couldn’t even remember the final moment when her son had emerged. Her eyes felt heavy and she struggled to open them, but she was awake now and needed to see her son. The tent was oddly quiet. 

_Something was wrong._ Her heart quivered in her chest as she glanced up at Ser Jorah. _Rhaego wasn’t here._

“My son, where is he? I want him,” Daenerys inquired. _He had to be around here somewhere._

Ser Jorah didn’t respond, but his watery eyes confirmed her suspicions: _something was wrong_. Her stomach cramped up into a tight ball and a chill crawled across her skin as she asked him again with more force. He would give her an answer this time.

“The boy did not live,” he responded. 

_No. Her son couldn’t be dead! He couldn’t._ _She had felt him kicking her stomach earlier that day._ The cramp in her stomach gave way to nausea as her heart pounded furiously. Mirri Maz Duur’s voice suddenly echoed through her head: _only death pays for life._ It was becoming more difficult to breath. She needed more air. _Had this been the price? Her son died because of that witch’s magic. Had Daenerys allowed for her son’s death so her husband could live?_

“How did my son die?” The anger sitting in her chest forced her words out past the lump in her throat. _She needed to know._

“The women say that the child was-”

“Monstrous. Twisted.” A familiar voice spoke. Daenerys craned her neck towards the voice near the tent’s entrance. 

Mirri continued speaking as she approached Daenerys, “The women ran at the sight of him. He was scaled like a lizard, blind with leather wings like the wings of a bat.” Mirri’s voice shifted and Daenerys felt anger mount in her chest. “When I touched him the skin fell from his bones.” The other woman’s voice was filled with abhorrence now. “Inside he was full of ash.”

_How dare she insult her son with that tone?!_ Mirri’s mouth opened to say more but she immediately closed it as Jorah reached for his sword. The older woman eyed him warily.

“Where is he?” Daenerys demanded, breaking the silence. “I want to see my son’s remains.”

Mirri’s gaze returned to her. “His ashes have been taken by the winds. Nothing remains.”

Daenerys heart dropped even as her anger stayed. _Her son was gone and she couldn’t even see his body!_ Daenerys wanted to scream. She wanted to burn it all so the world could feel her pain.

Daenerys barely caught Mirri’s laugh before she responded. “I warned you that only death can pay for life. You knew the price.” She shook her burnt arm in front of herself. Daenerys sucked in a breath of air as she stared at the woman’s wound. Dead white skin flaked off of the edges of the burn. It was a vibrant red and covered in blisters and a sticky looking film. The scent of herbs and honey wafted on the air. A pang went through her chest and all her concerns of how she had received it vanished when another thought struck her. _It didn’t quite smell the same as those that she used on her husband._

Her heart ached at the thought of Drogo. _Her sun and stars had been dying from a festering wound. One that Mirri said she could heal but couldn’t. Now she was told her son was dead. That was the price for her husband to live. It was supposed to be his horse! It wasn’t fair._ Her eyes began to sting with unshed tears. _She couldn’t cry, not in front of Ser Jorah and the witch. Her husband had to be alive._

“Where is Khal Drogo?” Daenerys forced the words past the ache in her throat with all of the command she could muster. _They would obey her._ “Show him to me.” _She had to see him. To hold him. To know he was alive._ “Show me what I bought with my son’s life!”

“As you command, lady.” Mirri inclined her head. “Come, I will take you to him.”

Daenerys fought past her body’s pains and Ser Jorah’s instance that she should rest longer. _This couldn’t wait. She needed assurance that her husband was alive. That was more important to her than her cramping stomach and aching head._ She pushed herself out of her bed and rose onto shaky legs. As she focused on putting one foot in front of the other she gained more control of her legs until it became a vague feeling she was barely aware of.

Outside of the tent the sunlight momentarily made spots dance across her vision. A warm, stale wind swept across her face and arms. It was quieter than it should be, she suddenly realized. Sand shifted beneath her feet as she walked forward. All too soon they had wandered outside of the much smaller Dothraki camp. _Dothraki only follow the strong._ An uneasy feeling grew in her gut. _What did that mean for Drogo? He was healed. Mirri had said so._

When she finally saw him she knew something was wrong. He was too still. He didn’t respond to her call or to her touch, but she could feel his heart beat beneath his skin. His chest still rose and fell with each breath. _He was alive!_ The discomfort in her gut refused to stop though as she ran a hand down his rough but woundless chest. 

_“_ My sun and stars,” she murmured in Dothraki. _He didn’t respond! It was wrong!_ His skin felt cold even out here in the heat of the day.

“Why is he out here alone?” Daenerys asked Mirri and Ser Jorah. _He shouldn’t be alone, not when he was like this!_

“He seems to like the warmth, princess,” Ser Jorah responded.

Daenerys barely heard him. _There had to be a way to get Drogo to respond to her. He was alive._ She leaned her head towards his. The feeling of her dry lips pressed against his chapped ones was familiar. She knew his mouth and the contours of his body well. Memories flashed through her head of their intimate times with one another. _How he just barely shivered beneath her when she licked him right under his earlobes. How her fingers brushing up and down his arm after they made love made him grin at her. When her lips met his he would surge forward meeting all of her movements with equal fervor. He was so responsive to the littlest touches when it was just the two of them._

Now his lips were still. He didn’t surge back into her as she embraced his lips with her own. There wasn’t even a twitch of his mouth as she ran her hand down his check. She sucked on his lower lip hoping that maybe she could feel that familiar tremble rack through his body when she hit one of his sensitive spots. Her heart dropped into her gut in malaise. _Nothing._ She pulled away.

“He lives,” Mirri spoke from behind her. “You asked for life, you paid for life.”

Daenerys glared back at her as she responded. “This is not life. When will he be as he was?” Her gaze immediately went back to Drogo hoping that something had changed. _There had to be some sign of life that she was missing._ As she looked him over she only saw a dull stare and a body that was too still. 

“When the sun rises in the west, sets in the east.” The feeling in her gut swelled and she could feel her eyes water and widened in horror. _No, what she was saying couldn’t be!_

Daenerys very intently fixed her gaze on Mirri as she elaborated further, “When the seas go dry. When the mountains blow in the wind like leaves.”

Daenerys caught the smirk on her lips and the way her eyes crinkled with joy as Mirri turned to leave. _When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east._ She looked back at her sun and stars as air caught in her throat. _Drogo would never be the same again. He would remain as this lifeless doll for as long as he breathed._

 _I warned you only death can pay for life._ Mirri’s self assured voice echoed in her head. _You asked for life, you paid for life._ Her uneasiness gave way to anger as realization struck her. Mirri’s grin flashed across her vision once more. _Mirri knew that Drogo would end up like this. She knew the cost would be Rhaego’s life! Daenerys had saved Mirri’s life. Her betrayal didn’t make sense._

_She needed to talk to her alone._ Daenerys rose even as pain flared across her abdomen. It slowed her down but it certainly wouldn’t stop her. _She needed answers._

“Leave us,” Daenerys commanded as she strode after Mirri but she was halted when Jorah’s hand wrapped around her own. 

“I don’t want you alone with this sorceress,” Jorah pleaded.

Daenerys looked back at Drogo before glancing back up at Jorah. 

“I have nothing more to fear from this woman.” _Her family was already dead. Most of the Khalasar was already gone. She had nothing else to lose._ “Go.” She put more emphasis on the command this time as she pulled her hand free. 

“Princess, she isn’t speaking the truth. I was outside of your tent when the other women dashed out of it. It was only a couple of moments later when I saw something else leave the tent.” Jorah paused, looking at her pleadingly. “It appeared to be a dragon about the same size as yourself. I believe a young boy was draped across it’s back.” 

Jorah remained there silently after he finished speaking. His words didn’t change anything.

“I will speak to her alone, Ser Jorah. Now go.”

He nodded and turned around leaving Daenerys as she had commanded.

Daenerys stared after him. _A dragon and young boy._ Mirri had likened her son’s body to a dragon’s and that he had turned to ash yet it was clear she’s been lying. Jorah’s words were more proof of the woman’s betrayal. _She would find out the truth._

Mirri had sat on a rock by the time Daenerys caught up with her. The older woman barely looked up at her when Daenerys stopped in front of her. 

“You knew what I was buying and you knew the price,” Daenerys said in a voice tinted with indignation.

“It was wrong of them to burn my temple,” she responded without remorse. “It angered the Great Shepherd.” 

Daenerys heart pounded furiously in her chest. “This is not God’s work. My child was innocent.” _This had nothing to do with her God!_

“Innocent? He would have been the stallion who mounts the world. Now he will burn no cities. Now his Khalasar will trample no nations into dust and others will not suffer as I did.”

Daenerys didn’t know much about the prophecy that surrounded her son. Not that she hadn’t tried to find out more but there wasn’t anything else that her Khalasar had known when she asked. _Rhaego would have united all the Khalasars into one and made the world his herd._

“The prophecy never said anything about him inflicting pain when he united the world.”

Mirri raised an eyebrow. “How naive are you, girl? Do you think he could do that without burning cities, killing people? He would have been Dothraki. That is what the Dothraki do.” Mirri stood and her gaze bore into Daenerys’ eyes. “It no longer matters, he is dead.”

Daenerys’ vision focused solely on Mirri as her eyes narrowed. “A dragon was seen running out of my tent with a boy on his back. I want the truth now!”

Mirri sighed, “During the birth darkness swallowed the light. I heard the screams of the dead. The darkness vanished and the dragon was there. Crammed onto your sleeping furs- where the child should have been.” Mirri raised her injured arm. “The _monster_ rushed at me. Burned me...I only saw the child’s body, older than he should be, when it pulled him onto it’s back and ran.”

“How do you _know_ he is dead? _Tell me!_ ”

“He couldn’t have survived, not with so much dark magic. It was the only way the Khal could have lived.” Daenerys opened her mouth to interject: _That wasn’t life,_ but Mirri continued. “He was taken by a dragon. He is dead.” 

“A dragon would not kill him. He is the blood of the dragon, just as I am.”

“He was crushed under the weight of the dragon. The boy’s face was drained of blood. He didn’t move. Not even when it took him.”

Daenerys found that she couldn't take Mirri on her word any more. The older woman had lost her trust the moment she misled her. She couldn’t believe Mirri’s claims until she saw his body. Daenerys had to find her son and the dragon.

“Where did the dragon go?”

Mirri stared silently at her for a moment. “You really are a fool. If you must know he burned a hole on the eastern side of your tent. I saw nothing more. You’ll have to ask your Khalasar if you want to know where he went after that.”

Daenerys nodded and turned away heading back towards the camp. _The witch would be dealt her punishment after she found Rhaego. Daenerys would make certain she would suffer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s been over a month since my last update. My goal is still to update every other week but realistically it might actually be once a month. Especially while I’m trying to get a handle on all the GoT characters because characterization is a very important aspect to me and I want to get them right. This took way more rounds of edits between me and my beta than any of the other chapters. On the bright side this is also now my longest chapter at 2,272 words.  
> Next chapter will be from Tywin’s perspective and boy is he being a pain to write. He’s basically been reading over my shoulder the entire time and telling me, “That’s wrong, that’s wrong too. Rewrite that. I wouldn’t do that. No not like that. Go and research battles.” So now I’ve tied him on a toilet with a ball gag and a crossbow just out of reach... So now that I’m just writing without focusing on the details, the first draft is going much more smoothly. I’ve just had to tell myself (and Tywin) that those details come in the following drafts and edits.  
> Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Please leave kudos and comments. I love to hear what everyone thinks about each of the chapters. Also subscribe if you want to know when the next chapter comes out when it comes out.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a crack fic idea that I came up several years ago when I noticed how many actors who had been in Merlin were in Game of Thrones as well. So last year when the last season of Game of Thrones came out I decided to turn it into an actual fanfic. I hope you enjoy it.  
> I plan on updating once a week.  
> ***Also the first part of this chapter with Morgana and Morgause’s dialogue and some of the Cailleach and Morgana dialogue borrows from Merlin Season 4 Episode 1: The Darkest Hour.***


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